


nitrogen, oxygen, and you

by troof



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bush Pilot AU, M/M, Slow Burn, also they make s'mores, keith climbs mountains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 09:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troof/pseuds/troof
Summary: “You say you’re looking for a pilot? I know one. Name is Takashi Shirogane, lives in the hills. I’ve used him once or twice. Good guy.”“How good?” asked Keith.---Keith comes across Shiro at a confusing time in his life. His family is in serious trouble. He has an adventure planned out, but is that what he's really after? A feeling of foreboding casts his plans into doubt.





	nitrogen, oxygen, and you

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! So this is the Alaska/bush pilot au I was thinking about writing. It doesn't actually take place in Alaska, as I made up a lot of the place names, but you can imagine these things happening in any country/territory that is similar somewhere near the Arctic Circle.
> 
> In these areas, the terrain is often so rugged and remote that access is not possible through roads, so it's popular for people to hire pilots that can get them from place to place. These pilots also deliver supplies, deliver mail, give tours, help with search and rescue, and any other odd jobs that pop up that may require a plane, and these are commonly referred to as "bush pilots." Often the plane will have tires or attachments that allow them to land on water or areas that don't have conventional airstrips.

By the fire, Keith was sitting in the lodge common area, letting his skin warm to the touch. It wasn’t crowded at this hour of the evening, but just enough people lounged to make the room personable, sipping their hot drinks courtesy of the lodge. One of them was reading a magazine in the corner, a woman vaguely sunburned who wore her hair in two braids. Keith didn’t know if she lived around here, but he might as well try.

“Excuse me?” Keith asked. The woman looked up from her magazine. “Hi, I’m looking for a pilot in the area that can bring me supplies on my next expedition. Do you know any?”

The woman shook her head, but the man next to her on the couch piped up.

“You say you’re looking for a pilot? I know one. Name is Takashi Shirogane, lives in the hills. I’ve used him once or twice. Good guy.”

“How good?” asked Keith.

“He brought me everything I needed. I have no complaints.”

“I’ll check him out, but is there anyone else in this area? I’m looking for the best.”

“Shiro is the best. If you won’t  
take my word for it, go to the front desk. Ask for Cathy.”

“Got it, thanks.”

The front desk stood unoccupied, so Keith scanned the brochures lined up on the shelves while he leaned his forearms on the hardwood counter. Advertisements for ghost tours, nature walks, and a water park several miles away that Keith knew from experience was at least an hour’s ride down the road competed for attention, but the one that caught Keith’s attention was one that detailed the best spots for catching the auroras above the night sky. He was just about to reach for it when a woman appeared behind the desk.

He was climbing Mount Calabrese in a week. No roads led in, so one needed to hike to the base of the mountain on foot. This would take quite a while, and it was impossible to carry all that food. Hence, the pilot. 

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Cathy.”

“You’ve got her! What can I help you with?”

“What can you tell me about Takashi Shirogane? Is he really the best bush pilot around here?” 

“Sure is. He’ll go out of his way to get you what you need. At least he did for me. I had to postpone my fishing trip a whole ‘nother day, and he still came through for me. I can give you his information if you want to get in touch.”

“That would be nice, thanks.” Keith accepted the piece of paper she gave him and stuffed it in his pocket. He took the brochure about the auroras too, to peruse later. 

He had spent the past couple of days asking around this lodge for information. It was a pretty remote establishment, so most people here were serious hikers or mountaineers. Occassionally, he encountered park rangers that were looking for a retreat. Two other pilots were in the running with great recommendations, so the only thing left to do for him was check them out. He drove off to see them, but none of them had as many glowing recommendations as Shiro. He would just have to see for himself.

\---

Keith squinted at the wrinkled business card he pulled out of his wallet from its place sandwiched between credit cards. He had perfect eyesight, but the wear on this card made it difficult to read. Still, this was the address. It had to be; a sign on the front lawn (if it could be called that) advertised airdrop and airlift services for the area and cheap rates.

 _Not cheap_ , the pilot had said over the phone, _reasonable_ , as if suggesting that his rates were far below the normal insulted his business acumen--but compared to the prices Keith had seen when shopping around, they really were a bargain. 

Keith hadn’t come here for a bargain. As well known as he was in the world of mountaineering, he could afford the best services that money could buy. He came here because he was looking for a good pilot, someone he could rely on in case of an emergency, and in all the lodges and camps he stayed at, Takashi Shirogane was on the tip of every mountaineer’s tongue.

He looked at the house in front of him. It wasn’t much: one story, dilapidated fence, a bulky attachment on the side that might have been a garage, but still framed by evergreens and almost charming, in a rustic sort of way. Still, he had lived out of a tent for two weeks out of the past month and in the meantime been living out of the back of his dad’s truck--the truck didn’t really belong to his dad, but his dad gave it to him when he was a teenager, and ever since he had passed away it had always been Dad’s Truck--so any structure that looked like it belonged to civilization was nice. Besides, everyone needed a forward base.

Keith tramped across the dead grass to knock on the front door. Layers of paint peeled up from the bottom. Someone had tried several times to paint the door over, but it just didn’t stick. Keith guessed the humidity or the temperature was the culprit. If if was him, by now he would have given up. 

The door swung inwards. Keith came face to face with a dark-haired man slightly bigger than himself. 

“I’m Keith,” he said, after a moment of silence. Now that he thought about it, it might have been better to call ahead. “I’m climbing Mount Calabrese next month and I need a pilot to bring me food and fly me back.” 

“You’ve found one. I’m Shiro. What days?”

Keith started to spout off his schedule, but was cut off with a hand wave.

“We haven’t met before, why don’t you come in so we can talk about this,” said Shiro.

Keith scraped off his hiking boots on the doorstep and followed Shiro over the threshold. They didn’t have much dirt on them now, but he did it out of practice. He set them on the rack close to the floor next to what he assumed were Shiro’s--Shiro had heavy boots like he did, well-made but a different brand. Dirty as all hell.

He didn’t normally like long visits, but being allowed in Shiro’s house put him at ease. In going around to all these bush pilots, he wanted to see what he was working with. Hopefully Shiro would show him the plane and his modus operandi, and after Keith said yay or nay they could come back and work something out.

Keith followed Shiro to the plush couch and rested his feet on the ottoman.

“You wanna take off your jacket?” Shiro asked.

“I’m good.” He wasn’t sure if it was cold in here, but he rubbed his arms anyway where they were folded across his chest. 

Shiro raised his eyebrows as if to say “suit yourself,” but he didn’t say anything more on the subject and sat down across from Keith. After Keith turned down his offer of something to drink, Shiro pulled out a map and they got to work.

“How long have you been doing this?” Keith asked.

“10 years. I used to go adventuring a lot like yourself, but after a while, I realized I wanted to help hikers in a different way. Maybe save some.”

“So you became a pilot?”

“It wasn’t that easy, but I guess so.”

Keith chewed on his cheek as Shiro unfolded the map in the table and he mulled over the information. 10 years..that was a fair amount of experience in this area. It could work. Fuck, he didn’t know why he was so paranoid about this trip. He usually didn’t care. He was always cautious, because he knew that nature could kill you before you could blink your eyes, but never had he felt this cloud, this nagging compulsion that said he had to get every detail right. He just knew he had to find the right pilot. Was Shiro it?

Twice, he thought Shiro was staring at him, or trying to sneak in glances when Keith was looking away, but he told himself it was his imagination. He had been on the covers of magazines before, but there was no way that fame reached up here. He had just been away from people too long.

“We’re right here,” Shiro said, pointing to the bottom of the mountain range where the contours spaced out, indicating a gradual slope. “Next to the mining town of Tabernacle and on the west edge of the Arctic Badlands. I can cover this mountain range and the next, so if you’re operating anywhere around Mount Calabrese I should be able to get to you.”

Keith nodded along as Shiro gestured over the map. It was a big area. He examined the lines more closely to point out where he would be climbing. 

He put a finger down and Shiro nodded.

“That’s a pretty challenging climb. I’m not discouraging you, but I’m just saying that a lot of people don’t make it. I tried myself.”

“I know, but--it’s something I have to do.”

“Good for you. No matter how it ends, I’ll be happy to help.” There was a pause, and Shiro looked up at him across the table. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but...your name doesn’t happen to be Keith, does it?”

Keith jolted up from the couch wanting to deny it, but no speech came out. He remembered what Mom always used to say: _Be nice to fans_. He took a second and relaxed back into the couch. He wasn’t angry, anyways. When people recognized him, more often than not, he was caught off guard.

It was probably his fault though. Most likely, Shiro recognized him because there were few people in the world who consistenly appeared to be that reckless.

“Yeah. I’m Keith.”

“Kogane?”

“Yes.” Keith sighed. “Do you want an autograph, or anything? I can sign your mug.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m just happy to meet you,” Shiro said, grinning. “I followed you when you were busy climbing all the peaks along the Zipper. I didn’t make a career out of climbing, but it was really inspiring to watch you in my own life…” Shiro cleared his throat when Keith wasn’t responding past a blank stare. “Next month is pretty busy for me, but I should be able to fit you in.”

“Thanks.”

“What are your dates?” 

“Hold on. Can I see the plane before we agree to anything?”

“Sure.”

Shiro took him back through the dimly lit living room to the hangar, which looked like a normal size garage that had been widened to fit the necessities. Cans of low lead fuel huddled in the corner. Keith knew it would be blue if it leaked out, but it was bottled up tight.

And the plane--Keith held his breath. She was small, for sure, could only fit two people in the cockpit with questionable room in the backseat, but she had floats, and no dents or scratches that he could see.

“How many hours of flight time?”

“6000. I’ve been running people and supplies in the area for a long time, and before that I used to work with the helo company down south.” 

Shiro was just standing there, with his hands on his hips, looking hopeful and obviously hoping Keith would pick him. Well, he had to choose eventually, didn’t he? He wasn’t sure if this was right, but it felt more right than any of the other people he had seen.

“You wanted dates? I’ve got April 18th all the way through May.”

“I can do that.” 

“Really?”

“You’ve got to trust me, Keith,” Shiro said, shaking his clasped hands toward Keith as if pleading. “If you aren’t comfortable, I would much rather you find someone else than force yourself to do this with me.”

“I do trust you! I mean--I don’t _dis_ trust you. I--I need some time to think about this.”

Shiro’s face fell, but straightened out in time so it didn’t appear he was trying to conceal it. “Sure, okay. Just call me back when you’ve decided and let me know.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

The entire drive back to the lodge, Keith knew it was going to be Shiro. He could have called him right now over the car’s bluetooth speaker system, but he didn’t. Back there in the hangar, the apprehension over the upcoming climb had just...hit him suddenly like a splash of water, and he froze. He was never nervous like this, and he had done this several times before.

 _Get yourself together, Keith_ , he told himself.

He didn’t have to make this ascent, he told himself, but he did. This was his hometown. He had grown up in the shadow of Calabrese and he had to scale it one more time, make it to the top so he could know every part of it. 

It was just a feeling.

And he was hesitant to place his life in the hands of a stranger, even as well-recommended as Shiro was. If Shiro didn’t come through for him, if the weather was bad or he couldn’t find his position--after a week, Keith wouldn’t have any food, and although he could forage for a few days, he would ultimately starve. Only two other times had he handed over the reins to someone else like that, and it had been to people his parents had trusted.

He needed action, though, and to squash these doubts, so he pulled off to the side of the road somewhat jerkily and made the call.

\---

Five weeks later, he found himself hauling bags of food from the lodge over to Shiro’s hangar. He didn’t require much. Most of it was powdered food in some form, oatmeal, or jerky, in most cases things he could heat over his portable stove, not much weight but still essential. 

He would have to clear a runway for Shiro to land when it came time for him to make the delivery, so they planned these spots out on the map too going off of updated information from the ranger station and Shiro’s own experience.

“I can help you with the route, if you want,” Shiro offered when they were done. “Just some things I’ve learned along the way.”

That was right. Shiro did say that he had tried to climb Mount Calabrese a while ago, although he didn’t specify any details or how far he got, but Keith had already done his research. He spent months making calls, seeking out the most notorious climbers for their expertise on Calabrese and other unconquerable cliffs. He didn’t need the advice of some amateur pilot who lived in the woods. He had a backpack to pack, and some last-minute shopping to complete. Breaker’s was having a sale on crampons back in town. 

He told Shiro this, and he couldn’t say that Shiro didn’t look a little disappointed, but he left without looking back. He wondered if he would regret it, but he was entitled to a life on his own, wasn’t he? 

That day, he retired to a quiet lunch in his room upstairs, not the best that the lodge could offer but still with a good enough view: trees close in, and mountains in the distance. Keith opened the sliding screen door leading to the porch and stepped outside to see if Mount Calabrese was visible, but the clouds floating in the atmosphere obscured the peak like a hidden secret that he wasn’t allowed to know just yet. 

Keith knew what it looked like. He had seen it on postcards. On magazines. Had stood there. He could probably see it in his sleep by now, the bald head high up poking up on a rounded cylinder over an unusually lush treeline that gave the mountain its name. _Calabrese_ , Keith said to himself, _after the Italian for broccoli_. If he scrutinized the base of the mountain, he could see why this feature had that name, but he personally would have chosen something more majestic. It was almost a waste to name a natural feature after a food. Speaking of which, he needed some right now. His stomach was starting to rumble.

 _Bullet_ , he thought to himself. _No, too ordinary. What about something religious? That could add a sense of grandeur. Angel’s Crest? No way_. Keith didn’t believe. He closed the door again and went back inside, heading straight to the counter to pour himself a bowl of cereal. He ate it in silence, pushing off thoughts of magazine interviews that he had to coordinate in favor of inventing more ways to slough weight off his pack than he already had. He was at twenty-five, with the most expensive gear money could buy. 

Most of them were donations. That was why he did the publicity, after all. Otherwise he couldn’t afford this hobby. And hey, apparently it inspired others too, so why wouldn’t he have kept with it? 

The hearty taste of sugar and wheat sparkled on his tongue. It was a nice morning. He didn’t pray much, but he did talk to his dad. Mom did too; he heard her in the dark.

“Dad? I’ll find you, okay? You’re not here with me, but I’m going to make you proud.”

It sounded flat in the open space.

Elise, he had met her in a tavern and she was usually his hiking buddy on most of these trips, called to wish him luck and see last-minute if he needed anything, but he told her it was fine and he had to do this alone. No, it wasn’t an overconfidence thing, it was a family thing, because he didn’t know what was going on with his family anymore and he needed to be close to them. This was the only way he knew how. He didn’t tell her about the nagging black pit in his stomach or the pilot, only that she should rest and keep him updated, and when they were both done doing what they were doing, he would drive down to Canada and they would share a drink by the fire at her old place and tell each other everything they’d done.

He brought himself back to the present and told himself he had to focus. Calabrese was ahead.

\---

Shiro watched the peaks and valleys zoom by beneath him as he cruised overhead. Everything was reduced in scale. The mountains still looked like mountains, but houses were the size of brown crates and rivers were silk ribbons that glinted in the sunlight. In the periphery he was aware of the tips of his wings as he banked shallowly to the left.

“Keith? This is Shiro. Come in. Over.” Four hours ago, Shiro had checked in with Keith to make sure he was still ready for the resupply. So far, everything was going as planned, the location hadn’t changed, etc. There were no complications.

“This is Keith.”

“Can you repeat your coordinates please?”

Keith read off the numbers on his map. Shiro had the radio volume turned up to max so he could hear Keith’s voice over the hum of the engine. He had been flying so long, it was no longer a distraction--just comforting white noise. 

“Thank you.” As expected, they matched the plan Keith and Shiro had hashed out several weeks earlier. He had a GPS, but even without that, he wouldn’t have had much of a problem finding Keith. He knew the area well, and from the forecast he wasn’t expecting any fronts to blow in and blanket the ground. It was every pilot’s dream. He flew for days like this. 

He crossed the forest, and the river choked up with ice three thousand feet below him. He scanned the ground for a camp, any sign of human habitation: a fire, a flash of light (he must be getting close now), there--tied to a stick in the snow was a brightly colored shirt. Just barely, he could see a figure standing by the tent a good distance from the landing area, a gap in the trees that was obviously man-made for this purpose.

“Shiro, this is Keith. Is that you?”

“I see you. I’m coming in right now.” Shiro decreased power to the throttle and circled around once. The figure waved. Shiro wanted to wave back, but it was better he get on the ground, first. He lined up the nose, descended and felt the landing gear hit the packed snow with a gentle bump.

Once the engine died, Shiro tightened his jacket and hopped out to begin unloading. He came face to face with Keith, panting from having run over to meet him as fast as the knee-deep snow would allow.

“You made it,” Keith said, cheeks red from the cold. Shiro wasn’t that much better off; his neck still had goosebumps from the cockpit, but at least he hadn’t been out here days on end with minimal shelter.

“Of course I made it,” Shiro told him, mock-affronted. “It’s my job.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“If you didn’t think I would, you wouldn’t have come out here. How much food do you have left?”

“If I’m not rationing, a day and a half.” Hm. This man really did trust him. Either that, or he left the inhabited zones and realized he had no choice. 

“This is for you,” Shiro said, lifting one bag out of the back of the cockpit, and another once he had passed off the first one. He bet Keith was happy to get those. 

He wondered, though: why was Keith so reluctant to trust? At first, he had just thought Keith was reluctant to commit because he wanted to make sure he had the best pilot in the area, but he seemed to doubt Shiro even after they had reached their agreement. Had he had a bad experience in the past? Before they went out to see the plane, he had shown Keith all if his certifications--his license to be a private pilot, his aircraft certification, his logbook, a list of companies for which he worked, but they hadn’t seemed to make a difference. Something else was wrong. He hoped this first supply delivery would put his mind at ease a bit.

Keith stared at them and looked back at Shiro. “I guess it’s not you I don’t trust,” he admitted finally, “It’s the weather. One bad storm, and you’re done. Just like that.” Keith snapped his fingers.

“Not like ‘that.’ I’ve flown in inclement weather, Keith. Even if something happens, there are ways to maintain contact, and unless Hell freezes over, there are ways to work around it.”

“What about all the people who died last year on Mount Cadaver?”

Shiro tried to remember what he’d heard of the story. “As far as I can recall, they didn’t pass away due to the weather. They hiked too far north until they realized they were lost, which threw the entire group into disarray. When the news came in, I was on the search myself. Didn’t find anyone though.”

Keith’s eyes were wide. Shiro hadn’t meant to scare him. “Other than that, it’s just an unfortunate nickname.” Mount Cadaver was the smaller mountain next to Mount Calabrese in the range. Its real name was Mount Cadraville after the hometown of the person who discovered it (and to stay in keeping with the ‘C' naming scheme), but after the first bad accident, all the locals began calling it Mount Cadaver, and the name stuck. 

“Yeah. Unfortunate.” Keith looked at the supply bags in his hands that he and Shiro had loaded a month ago and unzipped them to check the contents. “I’m gonna go and pack these up, so have a good flight back,” he said, eyes crinkling--they were an uncommon shade of violet, Shiro noticed, or maybe that was just the light bouncing off the snow--but making no move in the direction of the tent.

“I will.” Shiro headed in the direction of the cockpit. “You know, you need to back up--” he made a shooing motion with his hand “--so I can take off with the plane.”

“Oh. Right.” Keith took two giant steps back.

“More.” Keith took another step, and Shiro had had enough. One of the reasons he took this job was because he wanted to reach out to and get to know more hikers in the field, and often when he didn’t have a lot of jobs lined up he would stay and talk to some of the hikers at their campsites, if they weren’t doing much else. Many of them had existed for weeks without another human being at this point, and most of them welcomed the company or just wanted to share their stories. He couldn’t count the number of times he had touched down in a safe zone only to be hit with an avalanche of information.

He hung his aviators from his neckline, pushed open the door, and disembarked again. He looked at his watch. “You know, I don’t have to make another delivery for at least three hours, so it would help if I could stay here until then.”

Keith looked back and his campsite and back at Shiro. “Sure. Knock yourself out.” He didn’t have a fire going, he explained, as he had just set up camp and wanted to make the runway a priority, but now that Shiro was here with him, they set about gathering dry wood until they had enough for a moderate blaze. Keith flicked his lighter on and after a few tries, the flame started up. It grew slowly, glowing and creating shadows in unnatural places.

Basking in the warmth, Shiro couldn’t believe his luck. He was still a little starstruck, to be honest. When he asked about Keith’s identity back at the house, Keith had pulled away like it would have been better if Shiro didn’t say anything, so he had no way of knowing if lingering around the campsite would give Keith the impression that he was hovering. However, he seemed to want the company, at least now, and now that they were behind the scenes of everyday life together, both wanderers in the backcountry, that hesitation seemed to disappear. Still, he wouldn’t mention Keith’s celebrity status or the time he spent staring at his social media unless Keith mentioned it himself. For now, they were just two men in a wondrous wasteland, with time to kill and something like friendship to burn. If he treaded lightly.

“Speaking of unfortunate nicknames,” Keith said, referring to their earlier conversation, “I don’t understand why they call this The Badlands. Isn’t that a term that they use to refer to, you know, the desert? Arizona, Wyoming, the _actual_ Badlands?”

“Well, they call this the Arctic Badlands. Someone must have been trying to differentiate.”

“Whoever it was, they did a terrible job. I don’t know, it irks me.”

“What wouldn’t irk you after spending a week traveling 30 miles uphill in the snow?” Shiro asked. “To me, it sounds quite justified.” Keith rubbed his hands together and opened his palms to face the fire, then Shiro did the same.

“Thanks, you’re just the support I need.” Keith stood up from his place at the fire to grab some clothes that had soaked through and lay them out to dry around the heat. 

“What have you been doing all day?”

“Hiking. You probably said it best.”

“Oh. Okay.” Shiro had hoped to get more out of him, but it was nice to just sit here, listening to the fire crackle.

“How did you get your job?” 

“Me? Like I said, I used to hike these areas myself. Not alone, usually I connected with the community and organized expeditions with a few other experienced hikers from the area, but anyways, one day, I woke up and I realized that I wanted to do more. I wanted to give back and help this community and hikers like yourself any way I could.

“It’s never been about flying for me, it’s always been about giving back. Don’t get me wrong, I love being up in the air, but it isn’t just that. Sometimes, you reach your destination, and the guy you’re supposed to resupply is half-dead because a bear took his food--that’s only happened once, mind you--but when you get there, he lights up and looks as you as if you’re God. There is nothing that compares to that feeling.”

“You have a savior complex?” Keith asked in a tone that said, _I hope you know that I’m never going to look at you that way, so don’t get your hopes up_ \--

“No I don’t, I just really enjoy the feeling of doing something good,” Shiro said, struggling to keep his voice even. 

“Really?” 

“You seem surprised.” Keith looked down at his hands.

“I guess I haven’t met that many people genuinely desiring to do good. Everyone’s always out for money or personal gain.”

“Sometimes it seems that way, on the surface. But I guarantee that if you get to know people, a lot of them will surprise you.”

“For better or for worse, though, I’d have to wait and see.”

This kid, there was no getting through to him. Something terrible must have happened in his past that he had never heard about in all the interviews, and he wished he could help. If only he knew what it was.

“I have enough for s’mores if you’re interested,” Keith said, reaching again for his bag. He pulled out three Hershey’s bars, a box of graham crackers, and a bag of marshmallows as Shiro watched. Maybe he was getting through.

“Oh no, you need the calories.” Shiro gently declined the offer. Then, he realized that that would leave Keith to make s’mores by himself, and that wasn’t a very fun prospect, either. Keith pouted. “How about I help you make them, and how many I eat we can decide later?”

“You have to eat them immediately, or they’ll get cold. Why don’t you just bring me more the next time you show up?”

Shiro sighed and agreed that that was a fair compromise. He found a stick and placed a marshmallow on the end to hold over the fire, a testament to his weak resolve. Keith found his stick and brought one back, but he broke the chocolate and aligned the square with the graham cracker before reaching for the Jet-Puft.

“I might have a bit of a savior complex,” Shiro admitted, “but it’s not for the reasons you think.” Keith raised an eyebrow, Shiro’s indication to go on. If he was going to back out of telling this story, it was too late now, but it helped to get it off his chest. There were good people out there, but he couldn’t have Keith under the illusion that Shiro lived life as some kind of saint.

“Before I became a pilot, I was in charge of an expedition near New Gold Rush about 20 miles north of here. We had warm weather at first, but as the trip went on, temperatures dropped and dropped until they were well below zero. I advocated for huddling together until it passed and then returning down the mountain, but one of our members was new and insisted on going up at any cost. That night, he snuck out and we lost him in a snowstorm. I went with his father to go search while the other group leader took the others down the mountain, but no luck. I thought we were on his trail for awhile, but then it got colder and we both almost froze to death. The boy didn’t return, and his father died. If another pilot hadn’t found us, I would have been dead too.”

Keith pulled his marshmallow out of the fire while Shiro let his burn. “His dad froze to death?”

Shiro nodded. “I was right there with him.”

“You must have been pretty cold, too, what happened? Did you lose any toes? Fingers?” Shiro had several layers on, but he removed his arm from his jackets to expose the metal beneath. 

Keith gasped. “Your arm.”

“Surgery gone wrong. It was only two fingers on my right hand, but they got infected. The doctors didn’t stop it in time.” Shiro replaced his arm back in his sleeve before Keith could stare too long and before it could get cold. It may have been a prosthetic, but they had advanced enough to the point where he still received responses from nerve endings. No point in freezing again.

“Can I see?” Keith asked.

Reluctantly, Shiro wriggled the prosthetic once more out of his sleeve. “Sure.”

Keith leaned forward and ran his gloved fingers along the metal on Shiro’s bicep down to his forearm. When he reached the wrist, he peeled Shiro’s glove off and traced his hand along the fingers, too, in awe that they were metal.

“That must have been terrible.”

“It happened ten years ago, Keith.”

“Your marshmallow’s burning.” Keith pulled Shiro’s stick toward himself out of the fire and blew until the square on the end looked like no more than a smoking chunk of coal. “I’ll eat this one. Unless you like them well-done?”

“I’m not hungry for s’mores now. You take it.”

“Nonsense. Here, this one’s golden-brown.” Keith handed over his creation and the only thing Shiro could do was take it and try not to make it look as if it was going to bite him.

Shiro checked his watch. “Don’t let me keep you. If you have somewhere else to be, go ahead. I’ll get on without you,” said Keith.

“Appreciate it.” Shiro took two s’mores for the air, then headed back towards the plane, footsteps sinking deep into the snow. “You’re climbing tomorrow?”

“In two days.”

“Good luck up there.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

Shiro left the warmth behind.

\---

One week later, Shiro checked his cupboards, opening and closing them with the double-bang a plastic cup makes when it drops and bounces on the floor. It didn’t look like he had any marshmallows. Or graham crackers, for that matter. He had one box of Honey Golden, but they had expired and when Shiro tried one, it tasted stale. He was good on chocolate, though, always having kept a few bars around for when he wanted something satisfying after dinner. 

When he was at the convenience store, he bought the s’mores supplies, and also a few vegetables, thinking he might as well cook something before he left. Keith had been out there a long time, and might appreciate a hot meal.

Shiro cooked a quick chicken and vegetable medley and placed it on the copilot’s seat next to him, covered with a paper towel to preserve the warmth. As far as he knew, Keith wasn’t vegetarian, unless that had changed in the last couple months. He started up the engine and took off, lightly loaded and headed for the extraction point. He didn’t have many jobs today, just Keith’s, so after he picked up Keith, he could go home.

Keith didn’t answer his radio. The alarm bells in Shiro’s head didn’t ring at first because communications weren’t always reliable, but when he passed the area with no sign of human habitation, his palms began to sweat on the yoke. There was no tent, no runway, no sign that Keith had been here at all. Did plans change? Had he been forced to go somewhere else, and was now setting up the radio to call Shiro? 

In the time he had been at home and flying other trips to the mountains, he had plenty of time to mull over his last interaction with Keith. Keith had genuinely thought of him as a good person. Why did he have to ruin it by telling him of the accident? Matt said he had to let go of some of that guilt. Some of it, though, just wasn’t easy to purge.

He flew over the adjoining terrain for any signals that Keith might be there, and stopped when he saw the remains of a tent blown over, about 300 meters uphill of where he was supposed to be. Shiro pulled an emergency landing and investigated on foot.

“Keith? Keith!” he yelled out. His screams dissipated in the air. 

A quick assessment showed no tracks that led away from the tent, so Shiro assumed that Keith must still be inside. 

“Keith!” 

He reached the toppled canvas and slashed a hole through it with his knife. The crumpled body inside made his stomach clench up and he felt like he might be sick. Stepping over the collapsed poles and fabric, Shiro put a hand on Keith’s face, palm towards him, and felt cold. He pulled the body towards him until he could take Keith in his arms. He put an ear to his chest: still breathing, good, although faintly. 

He needed to fly Keith out of here, and fast, so he could deliver him to the hospital. Shiro slipped an arm under his hip and hoisted him over his shoulder, walking him back to the empty seat in the plane. Having a stretcher would have been ideal, but finding this spot again would take rescue crews too long, and life was fading fast. As it was, when he arrived back at the house, he didn’t know if Keith would wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos/feedback are appreciated! I've never tried writing a slow burn before, so we'll see how this goes D:


End file.
